


our final night alive

by Ifelldowntheroof



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, Inspired by Music, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ifelldowntheroof/pseuds/Ifelldowntheroof
Summary: Try to change society and accidentally destroy it in the process.I personally get bored with books and how bland they are so here's a short book, one that I would read.A short book inspired by society and the song "As the World Caves In" by Matt Maltese





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First original work I've ever made, the writing style is detailed with a lot of symbolism.  
> fuck grammar.

Prologue: 

It's an apartment complex in urban Chicago, the walls crumbling and cracking, late at night when everything's supposed to be quiet and dark but the cars and people on the streets are still screaming and there's embers of lights on street corners and buildings. There's a girl sitting curled up before the edge of the complex roof, dark hair that hits her spine and pale skin with bags under her eyes. She watches then takes a lighter out of her pocket. 

The lighters twirled in her fingers like one would a pen, it clatters to the ground then a gunshot and a shout and she picks it up. The sun's rising and the lighters in her pocket as she opens a creaky door and walks down three rusty flights of stairs. After walking down a hallway with green hotel carpet, she opens a door- the plaque says 184. 

“Madeline,” the person who answers the creaking hinges is 5’11, dark skin, and has sleeves of tattoos running up his arms, a box of matches on his forearm with a camelia above that. He’s standing in the kitchen leaning on the island counter there’s the sound of rumbling as a coffee machine works behind him. 

“Haiden,” she looks back at him, apathetic and amber, she looks away- the door closes. 

“It's sunrise.” Haiden sounds disapproving. “What do you do sitting on the roof?” 

“Who knows,” she shuffles toeing her beaten shoes off, they're falling apart at the seams and the soles have been hot glued back on. “planning, scheming, something along the lines of that.” 

“For what?” it's an amused tone. 

“My eventual fistfight with god in the afterlife of course.” Madeline smiles, looks at him. There's a glint in her eye amber is fire but not gold and Haiden laughs in a huff. The coffee machine quiets.


	2. Chapter One: Embers

Chapter One: Embers 

“How was the shop?” black hair sways over the counter, the stool creaks. He turns with two cups that steam, one is placed in front of her and the other is drunken from. 

“Alright, mostly appointments hardly any walk-ins.” he shrugs, his short braids are in a ponytail. He drinks his coffee, its bitter and watery and tastes like shit but the taste isn’t important. 

There’s sunlight coming through a small window that’s glass has a crack forming and its barely seven. 

“You going back after this?” the question is asked when Madeline looks at Haiden and tilts her head. The light bounces off her skin, her eyes, her hair, her hands and the white chipped stained porcelain mug filled with coffee that’s held near her lips. 

“Probably.” she watches, Haiden looks towards the window and the light makes his septum ring glitter and the dust in the air illuminates and the colors of his tattoos look vibrant. 

Sitting in silence drinking coffee as the light pours into the room from under doors, through the small cracked window, slowly as the world continues to turn and time to pass. Eventually, the second mug is in the sink after the stool creaks and scratches against tile. Haiden's at the door tying his green laced boots, maybe they look a little blue in this light, and there's a hoodie on his shoulders. 

“See you later” he waves, 

“See ya,” is the reply and he closes the door. 

Haiden leaves the apartment complex with its cracked and crumbling walls and broken lights and leaking water with his hands in his pockets, posture sloppy with exhaustion. Suddenly there’s a man in blue in front of him. 

A raven lands on the splintering windowsill outside the cracked kitchen window. Madeline looks as the sun makes its feathers shine, it seems to look through the window. A gunshot a shout and then it flies away. The screech of metal on tile then a hollow tap of ceramic. She opens her door that creaks like everything else, her bedframe complains as weight is added. 

She digs her lighter from her pocket, the spark lights, and the gas is lit aflame.


	3. Chapter Two: Lighter Fluid

Chapter Two: Lighter Fluid 

Sheets are tangled in her feet, white against her pale skin that still looks like cream and the sun shines in striping the bedding gold while also turning the sky a dewy pink as it sets to sleep. Sitting up from her blankets and warmth she takes her phone, screen cracked and case scratched. Theres nothing but the time on the screen and the phone is in her pocket. 

“Haiden?” no reply, her feet pat across the floor, bare but heals covered by the soft, worn denim of her pants. 

Every room is checked in the apartment kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, the coat closet by the door. His shoes with the blue-green laces are still gone and the hoodie with worn cuffs is too. 

Madeline goes to the couch, a small loveseat pushed into a wall with a dented, warped, coffee table holding an old TV- the type of TV that’s so old that bricks are lighter. The duct taped remote gets taken from its spot and buttons are pressed, the old TV flickers and awakens and the static sound gets replaced by the news. 

“Haiden...” His face is on the news, a picture of him from when they were in high school, his face is a little too round and soft, but his smile and eyes and the septum ring the one his parents were furious over and it’s the quality of terrible pictures only high school yearbooks can have because no matter how much priming and grooming they never look good but its Haiden on that screen. 

The Haiden she met freshman year when she was shy but not indifferent and he was loud friendly, so ever friendly, and they were inseparable- are inseparable but its him on that news screen. Shot. A man in blue shot him- the man thought sweet, friendly, kind Haiden was dangerous- thought he was threatening- says he was ‘scared for his life’ and now Haiden- innocent Haiden- is in the hospital four gunshot wounds, God he's barely alive and the man in blue is walking free- were the blue-green laces that blue? The news keeps drawling even as her world crumbles, shatters like the apartment complex and the glass of cracked window. 

Her phone buzzes. It rings and buzzes in her pocket and she grabs it, the numbers unknown- but what if its Haiden and the name on the news and the face on the news wasn’t her Haiden but someone else's- 

“Hello?” the answering voice she calls with is shaky at best and ineligible at worst. 

“This is Mercy Hospital and Medical-” the receptionists voice is cut off. 

“Is this about Haiden?” trembling and shaking and barely cooperative vocal cords as electricity burns her under her skin but they both have each other as emergency contacts- as immediate family because that’s what they are to each other, if it was any other circumstance she would’ve felt bad for cutting off the poor receptionist but she has to know. 

“Yes, Haiden Grey is currently in the ICU unit here at Mercy-” the receptionist is cut off again but this time by the frantic smash of a thumb with a chewed nail on the red bottom with the cellphone icon. She's out the door frantically her shoes with the hot glued soles and tearing seams halfway tied the door to the apartment is barely closed, not even locked. There’s no time for inconveniences like doors or locks or elevator or tied shoes and she's running- bolting down the stairs meant to be used during a fire or when the old elevator isn't working. The last five or six- maybe even a whole flight of stairs is skipped but everything is a blur and she can't hear anything put her own terrified pulse, she breaks through the doors of the entrance of the apartment building which are rusting and old and it gets jammed at the most inconvenient times with prism windows which make rainbows on the ugly green hotel carpet and she jumps the four steps outside the door. 

The walk to Mercy hospital is 15 minutes but if she runs its 7 but if she really runs- if she cuts through traffic and streets, she can make it in 5 two minutes more with her best friend two minutes that he might not have because he's in the ICU because the man in blue shot her best friend. Running through people nearly hitting three, breaking through crowds at red lights and nearly getting hit by a car and a bike but she's almost to the hospital and that’s the most important part because the skies black but it's still bright out because people in this city never sleep. The hospitals in sight and her lungs are burning, her mouth is dry and every muscle in her legs are exhausted, the adrenaline leaving and the sorrows setting in her heart hurts and there's tears behind her eyes but she keeps running because she's almost at the hospital doors which are shiny, new, and clean and probably reek of antiseptic. 

The door swings open on one side and she runs through, hitting the front desk which is made out of a dark wood, its shiny and waxed while she's panting and there's tears at the corner of her eyes, there's a pretty vase of flowers on the surface of the counter delicate and almost look like the tattoo Haiden has on his forearm above the matches and next to the duck that he got as a joke because she asked, but the receptionist looks up. 

“Haiden! I-I'm here for Haiden Grey- my names Madeline- his room number- what's-” she's out of breath like she ran a marathon if she did that doesn’t matter and the receptionist looks concerned while there’s sobs in the back of her throat and if she's not panting her words are being choked on like they're melted taffy in her throat. 

“Room 34 i-in A hall-” the hot glued soles of her shoes and the hem of her jeans hit the ground before she knows which way A hall is but she thinks the receptionist gestured somewhere to the right and in the back of her mind she thinks she needed to sign in but it doesn’t matter because A halls right here and all she needs to do is find 34 and there's 16 then 19 then 22 then 27 then 31,32,33,34- that’s Haiden's and she stops so abruptly she nearly slips the door falls open as she grabs the handle and she's in the room and its Haiden in the hospital bed with starchy sheets and tubes and wires and machines. 

It's too much. Knees give out and she's sent toppling to the floor with a thump. A sob rips violently from her throat- it's almost a scream. The tears come and won't stop neither does the choking sobs because its Haiden. Its Haiden in the hospital bed with his skin three shades too light and he looks dead- but he's not, there's machines beeping steadily a burring sound that’s most likely from an oxygen tank guessing from the mask on his face. Haiden's laying in the hospital bed starchy white sheets like paper cover his body to his shoulders in exception the arm that’s pricked with so many tubes. 

"Haiden-" the choking sobbing tears haven't stopped and she might be hyperventilating, the dizziness and rushing sound of her head can't be good and the plastic rails of the hospital cot creak as she clings to it while imitating a fawn and there's snow in the air and then she's on the ground. 

"The worlds shit Haiden, everyone is driven by money and hate. It's sickening." the words were said one night, the normal too late into early morning and there's a gunshot and a shout in the distance farther than usual. That night it felt like the sky was collapsing, and the stars were falling, fewer street lamps flickering and apartment lights glaring. Haiden looks at her then looks at the stars again- finally convinced to come to the roof sitting on concrete that's dirty and cold, by the edge, the world tiny beneath them. 

"I'd like to think it's not too bad." he smiles and throwing an arm around her shoulder, the winds cold and biting- she smiles, and they talk and laugh until dawn. 

She wakes up, she's in a white bed in a white room with white walls, a white floor, a white ceiling, and white lights, a window with white curtains drawn open with a black night moon and stars drowning in the ink. 

Pale feet hit the white floor and denim contrast, and shoes picked up from the side of the plastic bed. The door opens silently, creaky doors and rust don't exist in a place smells sickly of antiseptic and soap and death. Glancing down the hallway, amber is dirt. Empty and white dark doors lining light walls. Hall H, room 14. Wandering to the end of the Hall he joins to a large home still white and smelling like sick, she finds a hole after a while and wanders down the white tile until she is outside room 34. 

the door trudges open as she pushes it weakly. My room is white, white walls, white floor, white ceiling, white lights and Haidens lying in the white starchy sheets, his skin looking bleached as machines keep him alive. He shuffles his side of his bed and heavy door thumps when it hits the frame and her feet make a quiet slap with every step. 

“Haiden...” she looks at him and the machines beep. “tell me the world isn't that bad again,” my throat feels tight my precious tears is behind her eyes she feels like China, “Please,” her shoes drop, gripping onto the cold plastic railing, “Please,” she begs “Please be okay.” and a few teats fall down her face. 

The door thumps against the wall, there’s tapping of shoes as a nurse walks in pushing a small cart that shakes with every step there's a laptop sitting on top of it. 

Her eyes are red, puffy, salt at the corners of her eyes cracked down her cheeks her nose runs and it's red, making her already pale skin look even more gauntly as it contrasts against red and broken amber, but traumatizing events where never pretty where they. 

“How is he?” Voice is shaky and empty sounding. Looking at Haiden again her hands trembling against the rails. 

Looks at her with something like pity. “Critical.” 

Few tears drop on the back of her hands when she lowers her head and shoulders start to shake. 

“Where was he shot?” trembling words. 

“Two wounds in the upper abdomen, right around his kidney.” the nurse looks intently at her laptop screen, most likely reading Haiden's chart or something along the lines of that. “third in the lower abdomen, damaging his small intestine an the fourth hit the artery in his leg.” the nurses steady voice echoes off white walls, she opens her mouth closes it and takes a breath. "I have to warn you," she starts. "it's not looking good for him, he may not make it." Madeline's heart freezes, the frost crawling through her veins and her fingertips become numb. 

She swallows but her mouth is dry, tongue like a cats, and exhales shakily. "I-" her voice is an earthquake. "Thanks for telling me." The nurse is fussing with wires and tubes and buttons, typing on her computer. 

Silently and shaking, her feet are shoved into shoes. Tapping across the white tile floor she's at the door and leaves.


End file.
